by Jane Linfoot
And finally she picks up on my terror. ‘There’s no need to look so scared, Lily. Trust me, if I didn’t know you’d ace this, I wouldn’t suggest it.’ Her tone has switched from full-on excitement to soothing. ‘You’ve always had a great eye for weddings, you’re brilliant with brides, and you’re used to spotting trends with your flowers. What’s more, you’re talented enough to do this in your petticoat. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to extend your floral skills and push your creative boundaries at the same time.’ She sounds like she’s given this a lot of thought.
Not that I’m about to mention it, but apart from my vanishing job, I’m fine with the boundaries I’ve got. ‘But why me, why now?’
Jess gives a low laugh. ‘Good business is about seizing opportunities. You’re available, you’re here, I’d be mad not to tempt you to expand your horizons.’ Which all sounds so scary I need to make my excuses. And go.
‘I’m not sure I should be running back to St Aidan.’ My voice comes out as a croak. I left with such high hopes, and there’s not a lot to show for the last five years. Bolting home to the place I worked when I was twenty is like admitting defeat.
Jess gives a rueful smile. ‘Which is why I’m adding a sweetener. Poppy barely uses the flat upstairs now she’s with Rafe. We could throw that in too.’
‘Right.’ It’s so sudden, my mouth is still catching up. A job and somewhere to live. When five minutes ago I had neither. And even if my stomach has disintegrated at the idea of styling weddings, the view of the sea from those little round attic windows upstairs is luring me to think about it. Hard.
‘Of course, if you feel St Aidan is a backwards step, why not look at it as temporary? Find your feet, have a go at the styling, and move on elsewhere in your own time if it’s not for you. I’m happy with that.’
Jess is so great at making things work for people. That’s why she’s such a brilliant sales person.
Now she’s started, there’s no stopping her. ‘We don’t know what your mum’s plans are, but unless she’s eloping, I’m guessing she’ll be busy with a wedding. This way you’ll be around to help.’
What did I say about persuasive powers?
‘You might even be able to grow those flowers for her bouquet.’
‘Okay.’ I hold up my hand before Jess gets completely out of hand. ‘Thank you, and yes. To everything except the last bit. Flower growing was never more than a fantasy.’ That dream belongs to a different life. To a girl who took happiness as a given. I’m not that person any more.
Jess draws in a breath. ‘We’ll see.’
At times, she has a maddening habit of not taking ‘no’ for an answer. I’m mentally pushing up my sleeves, preparing to argue it out, when the shop door opens, and Poppy dashes in. She’s wearing the Barbour jacket Rafe got her for Christmas, and from the way it’s done up on the wrong poppers, I’m guessing she left home in a hurry.
Jess pushes the plate towards her. ‘You’re just in time for our brainstorming breakfast. Cinnamon whirl?’
Looks like this is me off the hook.
Poppy brushes the plate away with a half shake of her head. Without being rude, Poppy eats for England. Refusing breakfast ties in with her face being as white as the walls.
She undoes her coat, and sinks into a chair. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happened.’
Jess and I stare at each other, our jaws locked. Put on the spot like this, it’s hard to know which way to jump.
Jess unfreezes first. ‘A tiny clue?’
When Poppy speaks, it’s not so much of a prompt as a tirade. ‘It’s the total worst news ever. Never in our wildest nightmares did we imagine this. Talk about saddling up bloody horses. We might as well throw away the damned pony and be done with it. Weddings at Daisy Hill Farm are finished.’
‘What?’ Jess isn’t following any more than I am.
As I go and crouch down beside Poppy, her body is shaking so hard it’s making the Louis Quatorze chair creak. ‘Okay, take it easy. Whatever it is we’ll help you. Now tell us again, but slowly this time, starting at the beginning.’
Poppy takes a shuddering breath. ‘Rafe was out early this morning …’
For those of you who don’t know, this particular farmer doesn’t seem to go to bed. What with milking, and all things farmerly, as far as Rafe’s concerned, getting up at the crack of dawn means a lie in.
I nod my encouragement. ‘Go on …’
‘So he saw it first. There’s a huge hoarding in the field on the way down to Rose Hill Manor. It must have gone up literally overnight.’ Poppy’s voice goes so high it’s almost a squeak. ‘The Manor’s setting up as … as a wedding venue.’
‘Surely not …?’ Jess gives a disbelieving shake of her head.
‘They absolutely bloody are.’ Poppy’s talking through clenched teeth now. ‘Bloody exclusive use, blissful bloody country weddings. That’s what it says on the sign.’
Exclusive use? ‘Oh no.’ A trickle of cold sweat meanders down my back. Because actually I already know this, and I can’t believe I didn’t take it seriously at the time. ‘Omigod.’ I hate myself for saying it, but sometimes nothing else will do. ‘The guy who pulled me out of the pond said the same thing, but I took it he was talking through his butt.’
Poppy wrinkles her nose. ‘How did Fred know?’
‘Not Fred. One of the Penryn brothers was there tucking into the buffet, getting off on acting the hero. I should have warned you.’
Poppy’s forehead furrows. ‘A Penryn? Not Quinn?’
There’s an uneasy twang in my stomach. I can’t bring myself to repeat that particular name out loud. ‘No, this was … er … Kip.’
Poppy is momentarily distracted. ‘Quinn was best man at Sera’s sister’s wedding. Quite a handful. He crashed a van and smashed all the crystal ware.’
Sounds about right.
‘Fabulous car though. And charm by the bucketload.’ At least Jess stops short of commenting on his apps.
‘Out of control? That fits.’ An image flashes up in my brain. Me, dripping wet on the shore at the Manor. What is it with Penryns and water? Okay. I’ll come clean. I got stranded on an island with that particular Penryn brother as a teenager, and I chose to swim away rather than stay and sleep with him. Perhaps not a great decision given how weak my breaststroke is but that was the only option for me. ‘There’s a lake at Rose Hill Manor.’ It’s out before I can stop it, although luckily I bite my tongue before the rest follows.
‘It’s not just the lake.’ Poppy’s voice rises to a wail. ‘There’s a humungous spectacular house, shedloads of bedrooms stuffed with four posters. And a ballroom. Daisy Hill Farm can’t compete with that on any level.’
Jess is tapping her loafer on her chair leg. ‘But you have holiday cottages that the Manor doesn’t. And you’ll soon have the main farmhouse up and running, and the big barn will be done for the autumn.’
Poppy hugs herself. ‘But all our financial projections relied on us being the only venue in the area. If we lose any bookings to the Manor, we can’t make it pay. And they’re going to have everything we offer, only better.’
Jess narrows her eyes. ‘Don’t underestimate yourself. You’ve made a lot of friends in the industry. We’re all behind you.’ Even though she’s sitting down she thrusts her hands onto her hips, and her voice drops to a growl. ‘If this Penryn wants wedding wars, we’ll fight him all the way.’
‘If Quinn was anything to go by …’ Poppy’s voice trembles.
Jess jumps in. ‘Quinn couldn’t organise a fire in a coal shed. If he’s anything like his brother, this Kip will crash and burn.’
‘Every time,’ I say, my fist flying through the air. Although that punch isn’t only from today. A good proportion of the power is down to past resentments. ‘To overthrow Penryns you hit them head on. It’s the only way.’ Then I shut up, because I don’t want to come across as an expert.
Jess’s expression softens. ‘Strategy is my strong point. And we also have our
new secret weapon.’ She pauses for effect. ‘Brides by the Sea has a brand-new manager of a brand-new department – Wedding Styling.’
For a second Poppy and I both blink. Then my heart gives a lurch as I catch up. She means me.
Jess jumps in to save Poppy’s confusion. ‘Lily’s agreed to take us forward with the designing and accessorising side.’ And miraculously she’s missed out that I haven’t got the first clue how to do this.
‘That’s brilliant news.’ Poppy pulls me into a huge hug, despite her wobbles. ‘But what a surprise.’
‘For all of us.’ I’m not joking. ‘I’ll fill you in later, Poppy.’
Jess is rubbing her hands. ‘It’s very fortuitous. This way we’ll be able to parachute you behind enemy lines, Lily. You can be our under-cover agent.’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’ I feel like I blinked and woke up in a James Bond movie.
Jess rolls her eyes in frustration. ‘As our wedding stylist you have the perfect excuse to go to Rose Hill Manor. If we can land a styling booking for a wedding there, so much the better.’
If my jaw hadn’t instantly locked with fear, I’d be screaming.
Poppy looks unsure. ‘I know we’re desperate, but doesn’t spying sound a bit underhand? You mustn’t do anything you aren’t happy with, Lily.’
I bite my lip as I weigh up the evidence so far. ‘With this Kip Penryn, we’re talking about someone who crashed the party and ate the Sams’ hog roast. His signage appeared in the dark. He’s your neighbour, setting up in competition right under your noses, and he hasn’t had the decency to call round and discuss it with you. I reckon the combat’s already started. If it saves Daisy Hill Farm, I’m happy to come out fighting.’ Even if I’m wobbling about the styling part.
Jess rifles through her table drawer so furiously, she could be searching for boxing gloves.
‘Right on target, Lily,’ she cries, as the contents of her drawer fly across the desk. ‘It’s survival of the fittest. Do or die, sink or swim. There’s no time to lose.’ So much for an over enthusiastic imagination. We’re back to water again. Eventually she comes up with a pen. ‘I’ll start with a list of contacts to lean on.’
‘Thank you so much.’ Poppy gives me a last squeeze. ‘Oh my, you’re going to need your lovely suit more than ever for this, is it going to be okay?’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Somehow I doubt it.’ But suddenly it doesn’t matter any more. Waving goodbye to my LK Bennett is somehow symbolic. As if my ruined suit marks the end of my old life. ‘I can always get another. Although I could have done with power dressing for my appointment later.’ Hopefully my wink hides how much I’m dreading coming face to face with my mum. I stare down at my jeans and sloppy sweat shirt. Whereas I’m happy to use my all-day pyjamas for exactly that, regardless of destination, my mum always dresses like she’s going to Ascot. That’s twenty-four seven, whether she’s leaving the house or not. My jeans aren’t going to cut it, but that’s too bad. Life should be about who we are, not what we wear. Maybe my mum needs to learn that.
Jess beams. She’s got her mini vac out now, whisking the croissant crumbs off the table, ready for her nine thirty bride. ‘Meeting the fiancé is always a big moment.’
True. But when he’s your mother’s, and you don’t know him from Adam, big doesn’t begin to cover it. And when your mum is my mum … Well, anything could happen.
Poppy clasps her hands to her mouth. ‘Of course. Blimey. What are you doing?’
‘Afternoon tea at Heavenly Heights.’
Which was always my friends’ pet name for the modern close at the top of the village where we lived. I’m thanking my lucky stars I’ve got away with sandwiches and cakes rather than a formal dinner. As for Poppy’s wedding wars, not that I’m a pessimist, but they might not be the only explosions in the Rose Hill area over the next few months.
‘Do you need a wingman?’
I shake my head at Poppy’s offer. It’s great that she understands, but I’ve got to do this on my own.
Poppy rubs my arm. ‘Try to act happy for her. At least for today.’
Which given the way my tummy is twisting, might be difficult.
Chapter 4
Wednesday, 15th February
On the way to Rose Hill Village: Three point turns and missing rings
BLISSFUL BOUTIQUE COUNTRY MANOR HOUSE WEDDINGS …
‘Not exactly subtle is it, Gucci?’
Okay, I’m talking to my car again. It’s easy to slip into the habit when you do a lot of miles on your own together. It goes with singing along to heart break songs very loudly. But enough about that. I’m doing a mini-detour on the way to afternoon tea with my mum, to take in the Rose Hill Manor wedding sign. But the hoarding on the field edge is immense, and the lettering is so ‘look-at-me’, I forget to steer.
‘Signs like this should be banned. They’re a danger to the public,’ I moan, as I veer off the narrow lane and bump along the verge, simply because I can’t take my eyes off it. There are so many ‘exclusive use’ stickers, it’s probably visible from outer space.
Pulling to a halt, I grab my phone, and jump out to take a few pics to show Jess later. As I fight my way past the hedge my feet slither on the wet grass. Damn. Hygiene standards at Heavenly Heights are surgical. Arriving with mud smeared boots will put me at a huge disadvantage. But it’s too late now.
It’s bad news all round then, because the hoarding graphics I’m clicking away at are startlingly professional. Somehow I didn’t have the Penryns down as being this classy. On the close-up photos it looks like a venue to-die-for. I’m scouring the posters for something to criticise – like anything would do – when there’s the roar of an engine on the lane. Next thing I know, there’s a Land Rover beside me, with the driver’s window open. And when I turn round, I’m staring straight up. At Kip Penryn.
‘Speak of the devil.’ It’s out before I can stop it.
Kip rubs the stubble on his chin. ‘Do I know you?’ He wrinkles his forehead, then the penny drops. ‘Of course, you’re the one who caught the bouquet. Dried off, and out looking for a wedding venue? That was fast work.’
‘More like driving off the road, due to being distracted by your effing great hoarding, you mean. Big can be brash, you know.’ I refuse to acknowledge how perfect his promo material is.
‘We’re doing unmissable introductory offers. I have to make this work. Anyone getting married has to be interested.’
The words send a chill through me on Poppy’s behalf, if only because he sounds so desperate to succeed. ‘I’ll pass on the offers, thanks.’ Although I’m amused that he’s got things so wrong with me. ‘Unmissable’ offers are even more compelling and tasteful than ‘special’ ones. He’s certainly got his act together here.
‘We’re exquisite and exclusive, but we’re also exceptionally negotiable. I can cut you a deal.’
I give a sniff of disgust. ‘You do know if you overuse the word “exclusive” to the point of exhaustion, it loses all impact?’
He backs off on the hard sell, and goes back to being persuasive. ‘Come for a look around, you’ll see for yourself. The offers won’t last forever. All those Valentine’s proposals, it’s a busy time. I’ve had non-stop viewings since the signs went up.’
Sorry, but his win-win attitude is as annoying as hearing about his rush of punters. ‘Except you’re here. So I’m guessing you must have stopped.’
‘What?’
I’m going to have to spell it out. ‘Well you’re not doing viewings now, because you’re here talking to me, aren’t you?’ I let that sink in. ‘Or do you drag all your customers in, kicking and screaming, from the lane?’ Saying the word drag, reminds me I should possibly be more grateful for what he did for me last night. But stuff that, given what he’s going to do to Poppy and Rafe’s business. They’re right to be concerned. From what I’m picking up here, they should be very worried indeed.
His lips begin to curl into a slow smile. ‘You’re not loo
king for a venue at all, are you? Or you wouldn’t be so dismissive. You’re not even wearing an engagement ring.’
Dammit. For the first time in years, I wish I was. Just to prove him wrong. And not all engaged women wear rings, but I’m not going to get into that. So maybe he’s not quite as in tune with the business of getting married as he thinks.
‘I’m not personally searching for a venue, but I know people who are. Hence the pic.’ At least that’s explained. No way do I want him thinking I’m a sad single, taking selfies in front of a wedding sign. Although I’d settle for that, rather than the truth. It’s way worse to be caught out spying.
‘If there really aren’t any takers, you can always give me a call,’ he says with a wicked smile.
‘Sorry?’ Now I’m the one who can’t work out what he’s talking about, it’s not so great.
‘If you’ve got a free evening we could go for a drink? I’m new round here, I don’t know many people.’
Or more likely, people know him too well, and avoid him like the plague.
What a cheek. ‘A pick up on the lane? You are joking? You might be desperate, but I’m not.’ As I make a dive for my car door, it’s total bad planning because it means he gets the last word.
‘Your loss.’
Two tiny words which pretty much sum up the arrogance of the guy. As for Weddings at Rose Hill Manor, I suspect this operation is way slicker and more of a threat than any of us imagined.
The only good thing is that for five minutes it took my mind off where I’m going next. As I coax Gucci into a thirty-four-point turn in the lane, and zoom off towards the village for tea with my mum and her new squeeze I feel sick. I would not mind missing the next hour in my life.
Chapter 5
Wednesday, 15th February
At Heavenly Heights: Tangerine jeans and matching slippers
‘Ring the bell? Knock and say “hi”? Or what …?’
It’s the weirdest feeling. Standing in front of the house where I lived since I was eleven. Muttering. Staring at the stonework, not daring to go in, because so much changed in those few minutes’ yesterday afternoon. It’s not only what I might be interrupting. Walking in on my mum snogging? Don’t even go there. It just doesn’t have the certainty of home any more.
